“Right after I let this guy lift his leg. One sec. Make yourself at home.”
I could barely get Brutus to leave the apartment, and my guy peed faster than ever before…
“I know, I want to get back up to her too,” I mumbled to my dog as we walked toward the elevator.
Then I slammed my eyes shut faster than the elevator doors closed. What was I thinking? This wasn’t the time to get involved with a beautiful, smart, and funny seductress. Alas, I was riding back up to the proverbial siren, waiting for me in my apartment.
To make matters worse, I declared, “Honey, we’re home,” when I walked back inside.
Wren, clearly not one to miss a thing, raised an eyebrow.
“Joking. Joking,” I clarified.
“Good, because I’m not the stay-at-home June Cleaver, ‘have dinner waiting’ type,” she joked right back.
While she was busy giving Brutus a ten-finger massage, envy curled up my spine. I didn’t dare speak it aloud. Instead,I offered her a drink and she asked for a water.In my mind, it sounded like a sappy country song, yet I poured two glasses and met her by the sofa like an American cowboy might. Problem was, I was a Scotsman, living in America, who intended to play golf and drink scotch. Maybe both as a career…
“He takes all the attention.” I eyed my dog sitting at her feet.
“I doubt you’re lacking for attention,” she said boldly, meeting my gaze as I handed her the glass.
“You’d be surprised. I actually don’t seek it. False interest, I mean. Unless it’s about golf—real golf,” I clarified, “I don’t entertain it.”
I sat down next to her and doused the flame burning in my belly with a sip of water.
“Tell me about the golf.” She looked at me, dark eyes drilling into me, like she wanted to know about me.
Swallowing my pride, I admitted, “I didn’t always love it. In the beginning it was my dad’s game. He played, but it was more recreational for him. With me, he had his eyes set on something different. Says I showed promise back then.”
She nodded. “Pressure. I get it.”
“At some point, I started to love it. Somewhere around twelve, I didn’t mind missing video games or time playing football—not the American kind, but actual fútbol—for golf lessons and the driving range.”
This got me a giggle. “I assumed you didn’t mean the American kind.”
The way she mimicked my words, her sarcastic responses, and her adorable giggle were all so refreshing. This woman was not interested in false flattery or fanning my ego. She was real.
“And now?” She waited for me to answer.
“Now, I’m focused on the tour. The whole thing scares the feck out of me. I don’t admit that to many people or say it aloud much because I’ve waited all my life to do this, and here it is for the taking. Yet here I am, telling you.”
“Not for the taking. I don’t know much about this tour, but it appears you’re earning it every damn day. Which, by the way, is amazing. I mean, I still have to apply to med school, doing that this month, and then I wait to hear. After that, it takes a million more years of classes and then residency before I know what I’m going to do…and it’s not even my first choice.”
A wave of sadness washed over her face before she carefully schooled it. I didn’t have to be a psychologist to recognize it. “What’s your first choice?” I braved the question, thinking she wasn’t going to answer.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m going to be a doctor, which is why I get the pressure.”
She scooted a little closer, the tip of her kneecap hitting my thigh as she set her water on the coffee table. She had her outer leg tucked under her back one; sitting catty-corner from me, she looked like she belonged in my place. And a strange warm and fuzzy feeling crept over my chest.
“Seems like we have a lot in common. Except for our golf skills,” she added at the end with another one of her real giggles.
“I can tell you’re a fast learner.” I placed my drink next to hers and started leaning in. She didn’t pull away. “I’m going to kiss you,” I murmured. I watched her nod, and gently requested, “Say it.”
Verbal confirmation was important to me—for me. My dad had drilled it into my head. My big head, not the little one that could get me into trouble.
“Kiss me,” she mumbled, and I went in for the kill.
Our lips touched, at first lightly. With closed mouths we explored one another’s lips. Hers were soft, puffy…perfect. Mine a bit chapped, but she didn’t seem to mind. On a moan, my tongue entered her mouth, and her moan deepened. I took it as verbal confirmation.
